‘Would that it were,’ said Treacle Walker.
He was under the pear tree. The pony grazed.
‘What the heck!’ said Joe. ‘Just when I’ve got things straight, you have to turn up like a bad penny!’
‘Wae’s me,’ said Treacle Walker. ‘Yet I am no coin of Luxembourg.’ He went towards the house. Joe followed.
Treacle Walker stood at the step. ‘May I pass?’
‘Don’t be daft. Course you can.’
Treacle Walker went to the chimney and sat on the sill. Joe ran upstairs and fetched the Knockout. He handed it to Treacle Walker.
‘See? Everything’s right now.’
‘That is done,’ said Treacle Walker.
‘Yes. It is.’
‘Done; but not over.’
‘Oh, give it a rest,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve had enough.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, I blooming well have. Look. Whizzy and them are back in Knockout. I did what you said. What more do you want?’
‘I? Nothing.’
‘Then we’re quits.’
Treacle Walker did not answer. Joe stared at the ashes of the fire.
‘Treacle Walker.’
‘Joseph Coppock.’
‘You say you make people better.’
‘I heal all things; save jealousy.’
‘Can you make me better?’
‘Are you not well?’
‘Can you make my eyes proper?’
‘“Proper”?’
‘I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t.’
‘What is “real”, Joseph Coppock?’
‘Don’t start that.’
‘You chose the glamourie.’
‘I never.’
‘But you did choose. The choice was yours. You could have chosen shimmerings. You did not.’
‘How was I to know? Anyroad, what use is it?’
‘I can give you back your blindness,’ said Treacle Walker. ‘Be a doings, if you will.’
Joe stared at the ashes. For a moment his name glowed silver embers.